Kashgar (Kashi): the last authentic city

Former Witte Museum director Mark Lane is following the Silk Route across China, another adventure in line with his hobby of retracing historic journeys. He is traveling with Ian Hanks, his cousin/nephew who is fluent in Mandarin. A year ago Hanks was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor and only given a few years to live. Fortunately, they caught the cancer early, and treatment seems to be working. Follow the two through dust-storms and stomach storms, a homestay with an Uyghur family, a kneecap massage from a Chinese prostitute and other adventures.

“My friends and I find drunk Chinese men late at night and beat them up. We’ve thrown them out of the windows of that building across the street,” the Uighur teenager bragged. It was music to my ears. He didn’t want to throw Americans out of the window. “I wish America would go to war with China. The Uighur would fight with the Americans.” This was his theme while trying to sell Ian antique jewelry. His father walked up and the son whispered, “Don’t tell him. It makes him mad.”

They didn’t have to be good salesmen in Kashi as they call the ancient city, or Kashgar as the Europeans call it. The inexpensive jewels, knives, silks, woolens and hand-wrought tools would sell themselves. It was the same in Marco Polo’s day.

The Kashgar market lived up to its reputation: huge, inexpensive and packed with “regional products.” They spoke just enough English to get us in trouble. I’m still wondering what I’ll do with all the stuff I bought there.

Endangered animal furs were the market’s dark underbelly. Also, I avoided the animal market, just knowing that those puppies were being trotted off to be someone’s dinner didn’t put a smile on your face.

Our self-appointed guide appeared on the bus. He was a Pakistani businessman who lived in Kashgar, but traveled throughout the world selling “medical instruments” to market vendors. He turned to his young, attractive secretary who sat beside him and asked her to show me his catalog. I thumbed through its contents of various scissors, nail clippers, and yes, possibly some of it could be used in a medical setting; it did appear to be all stainless steel. He spent a half hour showing us how to negotiate, while doing lots of winking at me and arguing in English, saying, “I don’t care about the history, what is your best price?” We eventually went our own way. He gave us his card and urged us to call him for dinner.

Our purchases preceded us. Like the wagon train’s presence being tom-tomed ahead by the Indians in those old movie westerns, everyone seemed to know how we spent our money. Ian bought a gourd for his girlfriend’s grandmother. Even though it was well concealed in its wrapping, every shopkeeper called us over to see their gourds.

Kashgar was the extreme western end of China and the end of the Silk Road for us. For me, a future journey will continue without Ian’s Mandarin, and cover the “all those ‘Stan’s” until the route ends in Istanbul, Venice, Marseilles, or whatever Mediterranean port I choose. But that is in the future.

Kashgar is also the Muslim capital of this part of Asia. The Uighurs, Tajiks, and Kirziks all comprise a majority here attached to China’s short tether. This westernmost sector has been part of Communist China only in the last century; unfortunately, it also has oil.

The Chinese intend to dilute the local unenthusiastic minority/majority citizens by importing millions of Chinese Han nationals who have the best jobs because of the language. The Communists insist on good Chinese for good jobs. It was ironic that the rare minority people who spoke English, did so much better than the Chinese.

Ian tried to stir up conversation with talk about the divide between Uighurs and other minorities with the Chinese. A few Uighurs wouldn’t talk, but most were very verbal with their grievances. People have disappeared for less here. However, the Chinese all said, “We are bringing civilization to these backward people.” This is word for word what the European colonial powers all said in the last two centuries. China may say it is learning from our mistakes but they missed the lesson at the end of that book.

Kashgar was our last stop on the Silk Road. We left on the 24 hour night train to Urumqi. After two sandstorms delayed us, we arrived in this high-rise modern city to gorge on our first international breakfast buffet in a grand hotel. I wanted to forget all those goat fat dinners and soak myself in bacon lard and sausage. Ian flew out to Shanghai and I left for Beijing and home.

Advice for future travelers: when crossing the Chinese desert by day and overnight buses, double the Imodium, double the sunscreen and double the size of your bladder.

A few closing thoughts.

Everywhere we went building cranes filled the skyline, sometimes dozens in cities I’ve never heard of. Empty shopping centers and office towers seemed to line each tourist mecca. I think the country is scheduled for a “correction” as the business journals say, but the long term is good. Everybody wants to jump into the pool, no matter how polluted or hot the water is. One anecdote for explanation:

A young female museum guide in Langzhou, a huge overbuilt city, told us this as we finished our tour. She majored in English literature in order to speak well enough to eventually get a job in an international corporation. She had gone to a university for five years for the degree. Her vocabulary was very good but her pronunciation was almost incoherent at times. As with most of China her teachers had very poor training. We were the very first foreigners she had every spoken to; English speakers are that rare. She was one of dozens we spoke to that were willing to do anything to become part of the new China.

The government has kept the power over the people, but turned all the people loose to fend for themselves with inadequate education and health-care. I thought that is what communism did well in.

On the other hand, dictatorships make things happen. Chinese cities are remarkably quiet; there are no whining motorbikes. In France there are laws about noisy motors but they are not enforced. The police complain that the kids drive by too fast to catch, the kids whine that the motors are too weak if the muffler is not removed, but we all know that teenage boys like loud things to squat on. Beijing is the quietest overpopulated city I’ve ever visited. The motorbikes are mostly electric, and the gasoline bikes have mufflers. I was surprised how relaxed the streets were. The Communist like a quiet population.

China’s coming competition is much different from Japan’s previous perceived threat. Unlike the Land of the Rising Sun, China has low wages, natural resources, and plenty of historical Marco Polo dust to clog your nose.